


A Moon and its Stars on Earth

by UndomesticatedEquines



Series: A Moon and its Stars [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Brief references to, Caulfield, Food Scarcity, Future Fic, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inspired by real science, M/M, POV Alex Manes, POV Michael Guerin, Past Maria DeLuca/Michael Guerin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29574465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UndomesticatedEquines/pseuds/UndomesticatedEquines
Summary: Alex finally had his dream within his reach, but when the aliens arrived, it looked like Michael may really want to leave with them. Michael, meanwhile, had really only had one dream: Belonging. He was starting to find it with Alex, so of course that was when his people came back. He knew what to do when his dreams collapsed. He didn’t know what to do when more than one appeared.This work is part one of two.
Relationships: Isobel Evans/Gregory Manes, Max Evans/Liz Ortecho, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: A Moon and its Stars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2172708
Comments: 10
Kudos: 66





	1. The Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a short little fic where I figured out what the Alighting could be, and figure out an alien planet from the tidbits of canon we have. It definitely got away from me, but I like where it ended up.

The day the Antarians came, Alex woke warm and content under his alien blanket. Michael had a tendency to move around at night, but he never broke contact, and Alex never woke up alone. Years of conditioning had rendered him incapable of sleeping in, and what had once been a time when he’d gather the strength to face the day was now reserved for a recharge of his soul. He let his hands drift lightly over Michael’s curls, backlit like a halo by the sunrise, down his chest. He felt the strong heartbeat and steady breaths settle something inside, the deep-seated need to know that Michael was all right, that he was _safe_. He let his fingers trickle over Michael’s arms, holding him tight even in sleep, and let himself feel safe, too.

They were still figuring it out, still learning to express themselves properly, but this, the touching, it was never wrong. It was how they communicated; even now, when they were trying to use their words, they spoke easier when touching. In the dark, under the light of the stars in the expanse of the desert, wrapped in each other’s arms, that was when they were their most unguarded, when they could share secrets with the other they’d barely shared with themselves. It was how they’d made it back to each other. They were making it work, this time. They couldn’t not. Through the years and the distance and the pain, they would never— _could_ never—stop loving each other. No one else could compare, and it was cruel to everyone involved to try. They’d grown, were still growing, and this time, they were doing it together.

Alex brought his fingers back to Michael’s hair, smiling. Maybe he could convince Michael to make his famous omelets. They both had the day off, and it deserved something more than rushed coffee and half-buttered toast. He pictured it: Michael in only his boxers, singing into a spatula like a microphone, dancing around the kitchen— _their_ kitchen, though they’d yet to make it official—the smell of fresh-cut peppers filling the room. Michael made a noise in his sleep and pushed his head further into Alex’s hand, like he agreed with the plan. Alex let his heart fill. His smile curled a little more as he let his fingers trail down Michael’s chest, then lower. They did have all day, after all. Be a shame to leave the bed so early.

Michael made another noise in his sleep, this one less content, and Alex’s fingers froze, smile disappearing. He pulled his other hand out of Michael’s hair, not wanting him to mistake it for a bad touch in his nightmare, but then Michael yelped, bolting upright, his eyes clenched shut. Alex sat up with him, hands going to frame his face. Michael’s eyes snapped open, and he looked around wildly, arms reaching for Alex, hands grasping desperately.

“Michael?” Alex asked.

“They’re here,” Michael said, fingers digging into Alex’s shoulders. “They’re here, they’re here.”

“Who’s here?”

Michael’s eyes focused on Alex for a moment. “ _Them_ ,” he said. He gave a little hysterical giggle. “The aliens have landed in Roswell.”

Alex looked at him, fingers firmly cupping his face, trying to gauge Michael’s reaction. Did he get a sense of what the aliens wanted? Were they friendly? Did they want to take Michael and his siblings away as spoils of war? Were they here as family, to take them back? They still hadn’t addressed the spaceship in the bunker. Did Michael want to go?

Michael had nothing to offer but shock, though, and Alex pulled him into a hug. They ignored the vibrating phones next to them until Michael’s breathing evened out a bit, but Alex had to know if he was being called into work, if the Air Force had detected the landing. He breathed a sigh of relief when he checked the caller ID and saw it was Gregory.

“Hey,” he answered, holding Michael close. “Isobel hear them, too?”

“Yeah.” He heard Greg breathe. “We’re heading out now, Max and Liz, too. Want us to pick you up?”

Alex glanced at Michael, who was watching him dazedly. “We’ll meet you there,” he said. Whatever happened, they’d talk about it on the drive. This wouldn’t be the last time they were in bed together.

Breakfast was rushed toast and coffee. They left their phones in the kitchen so they couldn’t be tracked.

\-------

Finding the landing site was more difficult than Michael anticipated. He felt a tugging in his head, but it didn’t exactly obey road signs, so he had to pull over often, checking his Road Atlas and making his best guess. Perhaps they should’ve all gone in one car, after all. He doubted Max or Isobel were having an easier time, and they could all get lost together. Then again, it probably would’ve devolved into a three-way backseat driving situation, so maybe this was for the best. They were two hours from civilization when he finally felt them getting close, in the middle of nowhere in the way only the desert could be.

Alex wanted to say something, he could tell. It was in the way he breathed, the set of his jaw, the flare of his nose. Michael had used to read that as anger, but it was determination. The way Alex confronted the world sometimes was with just enough anger to push himself forward. It could take a while for that to build high enough, though, and pushing would only frustrate Alex, so Michael didn’t say anything.

Inside, though, his mind was the loudest it’d been in years. He’d only really had one dream, just with different variations: Belonging. Loving and being loved back. Not hiding. Being _enough_. When he was a kid, thrown from one foster family to another, he looked to the stars for that. When he fell in love with Alex, he saw it in their future. When his world had come crashing down, he’d thought that Earth was a lost cause, that it was only the stars. He’d tried to see it in Isobel and Max, and succeeded to a lesser extent, but despite their best efforts, he knew he was on the outside of them, looking in. Then it had come crashing down again, and his mother wasn’t there, she wasn’t here, she was gone. He was finally starting to find it with Alex: a relationship founded on honesty and mutual love. Happiness. A home. But now it seemed the stars were calling.

Michael knew what to do when his dreams collapsed. He didn’t know what to do when more than one appeared.

“I don’t want you to go,” Alex said.

“What?”

“To your home planet. I don’t… I don’t want you to go.” On anyone else, those eyes and flattened mouth would be anger, but Michael had learned to read it as fear.

He didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t know if there was any family even out there. It’d been over 70 years. He reached for Alex’s hand. Alex took it, and the words were suddenly easier. “I don’t know if I want to go. I don’t know if they want me to go. Maybe they’re refugees. Maybe they’re looking for Jones, or Max. Maybe… I don’t know. But I…” He felt the certainty in him grow as he said the words. “I need to know. We could learn about their technology. We could learn our language. We could learn our _names_ , Alex.” Alex squeezed his hand. “The name of our species. I don’t… I hate being an ‘alien,’ Alex. It’s so vague. I hate not _knowing_. We could be from fucking Mongo for all we know. We could be from another galaxy. We could—we don’t _know_. I want—I’ve always needed to know.” His voice broke and Alex made a noise. He breathed deeply, squeezing Alex’s hand and pulling strength from their connection. “Whatever happens, though, I don’t… I don’t want to leave you.”

Alex squeezed his hand back.

“That’s it,” Michael said, nodding ahead.

Isobel and Gregory had already arrived, but Max and Liz hadn’t. Michael’s gaze flew over the ship, the iridescent curves of it exactly like the control consoles they’d seen. The material confused him. Making a partially organic technical interface for a quasi-telepathic species made sense, but space was cruel and unforgiving, and organic matter didn’t do well directly exposed to its vacuum and cold. Michael had expected the hull to be inorganic, like ships on Earth. Looking over it, he noted no immediately apparent means of propulsion. The shape reminded him of solar sails, but he quickly discarded that. Solar radiation could never propel a ship with that little reflective surface, and certainly not fast enough. His mind raced, fitting the pieces together in his mind. Perhaps the bioluminescence and semi-organic material of the hull tied into it. To get here within their lifetimes, the ship had to travel faster than the speed of light, and humans hadn’t figured out a way to even theorize that, regardless of what their science fiction warp drives said. Michael had a few hypotheses himself, but he’d never been able to test them, not with the resources he had.

Isobel nudged him, bringing him out of the puzzle. There were people here, too. Aliens. His people. They stood straight and tall, unblinking, mouths firmly shut. He felt a pressure in his mind, not unwelcome, but not entirely familiar. Like a spinning thought behind his right temple, unable to be caught. He couldn’t hear any words, were there words? It reminded him of… Relief? Determination? Alarm? He glanced at Alex, whose eyes watched him carefully. When Alex saw him looking, he offered a strained smile and a deep breath that Michael instinctively copied.

Max drove up, and the spinning thoughts changed. There was definite excitement now, along with a resolve that threatened to bowl him over. Isobel reached for him, and he reached back.

“You understand them?” he asked her.

“Mostly,” she said. “What are you getting?”

“Feelings?”

“Come on,” Isobel said when Max joined them, pulling the two of them forward.

Michael and Max shared a look, half confused and half overwhelmed, but Max set his shoulders. Michael tried to put on his swagger, his armor, but it felt false under the gazes of the aliens. He glanced at Alex again. As if sensing his discomfort, the strain in his smile dimmed, leaving only encouragement. He looked back to the aliens—to his people, breathed deeply, and walked forward as normally as he knew how.

Isobel took the lead, being the only one to understand them. Michael received feelings, giving him an inkling of the direction of the conversation, but nothing else. His sister, on the other hand, seemed to be conversing freely, leaving him and Max behind. Michael felt his nostrils flare and his hands start to clench. He finally had people who could explain things, tell him about his planet, his technology, his abilities, things about himself he’d been piecing together for years without success, and he couldn’t understand them. These people could tell him, without a serial killer’s bias, why they’d left, who they’d left behind. The _name of their species_. And here was Michael, unable to understand a word.

Max snapped first. “This is ridiculous, Iz,” he said. “What are they saying?”

One of the visitors smiled as to a petulant child and glanced to her side. Two others extended hands, palm outward, toward Michael and Max. Michael had a fleeting memory of his mother reaching out to him the same way, and for once, he didn’t bury it. He put up his own hand in response. It wasn’t warm, like his mother’s, but the glow was the same, and when he breathed in, he _felt_ it. The language, _his_ language, it wasn’t words, it wasn’t just emotions. It was images and memories and feelings, blending together in a way words never could.

He felt tears sting his eyes and he closed them, cobbling together a feeling of gratitude and trying to send it over the link. The link. He could feel it now, with this alien, and with Max and Isobel, so strong he couldn’t believe he’d never noticed it. He laughed, overwhelmed. Questions bubbled up and out of him, across to the alien, who sent back amusement and reassurance, telling him to slow down, just not in words.

His eyes opened when the alien’s hand settled back at his side, and he looked over his shoulder, toward Alex and the other humans, who’d stayed a respectful distance back. While Liz stared unabashedly, Alex and Greg looked more calculating. Whatever showed on his face, though, brought a genuine smile to Alex’s. He grinned back, and started at the beginning.


	2. Alien Lovers' Club

For Alex and the rest of the Alien Lovers’ Club, the initial thrill of meeting visitors from another planet faded depressingly quickly. Unable to follow the conversation, or even tell when anyone was speaking killed the vibe, and the hours stretched long as they watched their people. They’d come back once, assuring them that the alien ship couldn’t be detected by radar and that it had a visual cloaking system, so there was no way for the military to know they were there. It didn’t calm Alex or Gregory, but the distinct lack of Humvees and air support did help.

None of them had prepared for a long wait in the middle of the desert in the summer. Isobel kept a hypoallergenic sunscreen in her car, Max kept jerky in his Jeep, and Michael kept a five gallon jug of water and various camping (living) supplies in his truck, so they weren’t in any danger. Alex knew how to arrange the pads and blankets Michael still kept in the tailgate, so they were reasonably comfortable, for three people in the desert through the hot hours of the day, but there was a mounting frustration that crept under Alex’s skin. Max had been upset he hadn’t been able to follow the conversation for a few minutes, and here the humans were, hours later. For someone whose entire career was based on gathering intel no one else could, it grated at him to admit he couldn’t.

“It’s a pity Maria isn’t here,” Liz said again.

Alex squirmed. When once upon a time, Maria would’ve been his first call for anything exciting, the decade away and the Michael debacle had pushed her further down the chain. It hadn’t even occurred to him to tell her that her great-grandmother’s people had landed. Liz had called, though, even before leaving the house. After joking that if aliens were falling from the sky could they not take her bartender and leave her short-staffed, Maria had promised to visit while the aliens remained and extracted a promise to ask about ability-based neurodegeneration. Not for herself, of course, Alex had noted with annoyance, but for her mother. “Hopefully they can get some answers about Mimi,” he offered.

“They’re certainly getting answers about something,” Greg said.

While the humans couldn’t hope to follow the presumably telepathic conversation, the aliens had clearly been conversing the whole time. Max and Isobel wore sober expressions, nodding occasionally. On the other hand, Michael’s face was lit with absolute _glee_ , walking around and in their ship with another alien, running his hands over pieces of it and closing his eyes, his grin blinding. Alex may still be terrified they’d take Michael away, but ever since his man had communicated via glowing hand and his whole body had sagged in relief, Alex couldn’t find it in himself to begrudge the joy and hunger in his eyes. For once, information he’d searched for his whole life was being freely given, and Michael was devouring every piece of it. If anything, Alex was having trouble watching the vicious intelligence in Michael’s eyes without jumping him. Alex never could rank Michael’s sexiest features, as every part of him swirled to number one at some point or another, but right now, his mind lit the itch in Alex’s hands.

“We’re not talking about something,” Liz said.

“What?” Alex asked, desperate for the distraction.

“What happens if they want to leave?”

Not that distraction. “No, we’re not,” he said.

“We can’t stop them from going, if they want to,” Gregory said, eyes glued on Isobel, tone betraying how much he wanted to.

“No, we can’t,” Alex said. He found himself watching Michael’s eyes. The pain that had filled them for so long had dimmed in recent months, but now it was buried entirely under this opportunity for learning, this solving of an old puzzle. This wasn’t the last time he would see them, he promised himself, but he found himself memorizing their gaze anyway.

“Maybe we could go with them?” Liz suggested.

“We literally can’t speak the language,” Alex said.

“We don’t know if their planet could even support human life,” Greg said.

“Their physiologies are more forgiving than ours,” Liz mused.

“Maybe they won’t want to leave,” Greg said.

Alex said nothing. He looked at the cracked and broken dirt. Max and Isobel had never wanted to leave the planet. They hadn’t been building a spaceship control console in their bunker for the past decade. They had found their families and lives here. They hadn’t spent their nights looking to the stars for a home.

How could he compete with the stars?

When night finally fell, their aliens returned to them, each going to their human and wrapping them in an enveloping hug. If their humans didn’t let them stand too far from them, they didn’t comment.

“What’s going on? Are they leaving?” Liz asked.

“No, they’re just going to sleep in their ship,” Max said.

“What? They’re on a different planet. They don’t even want to look around?” Greg asked.

“Seemed to think it was beneath them,” Isobel said, disdain evident in her voice.

Alex frowned. That didn’t make sense.

“We offered to put them up, threw in good food, too,” Michael said.

“Anyone who turns down my dad’s food is loco,” Liz said.

“Oh? Are we eating at the Crashdown?” Isobel asked.

“If you three think you can get away with not telling me what you just learned, you have clearly not met me,” Liz said, “and I’m not above bribery.”

Michael grinned. “Fully bribable, here.”

“Did they say how long they’re here for?” Alex found himself asking.

“They didn’t say,” Isobel said, frowning slightly. “They were very clear about wanting to speak to us more, help us learn about our culture, our people, our planet—”

“Antar,” Michael interrupted, conviction lining his voice. “The planet’s called Antar. We’re Antarians.” He, Max, and Isobel smiled at that, a warm, inner smile speaking to an uncertainty finally settled.

“I’m not planning on letting them leave until we’re done talking to them,” Max said. “They don’t want to come into town, though.”

“Well then,” Greg said. “Arturo’s food’s calling.”

Alex winced. He’d been on his prosthetic far longer than the recommended amount, and he didn’t look forward to keeping it on for however long it took Liz to grill them.

Michael, of course, noticed. “Takeout. Our place,” he said. They all turned to look at him. “What? I don’t know about you all, but I learned some things I’m not really comfortable discussing in a busy diner. Don’t want people overhearing all about Antar and Antarian technology.” He grinned at his own use of the names of his planet and his people.

“All right, party at Michael and Alex’s,” Isobel said. Having two of them refer to the place as _theirs_ settled something in Alex’s gut. “Max, Liz, you pick up the food and Rosa, should she want answers. Greg and I’ll grab my great-grand-niece, and you two,” she gestured at Alex and Michael, “can invite Doctor McSexy.”

They took a moment to glance at the ship, where the other aliens— _Antarians_ —had decided to stay for the night, and split into their cars.

Michael climbed into the driver’s seat, already talking as he started the truck. Most of what he’d learned about their technology today was about interfacing with it, something he’d been struggling with. Alex didn’t follow all of it— the aliens didn’t exactly use binary code— but he loved watching Michael talk about it.

“The reason I could never get the console to respond wasn’t because it was incomplete. It’s because I couldn’t speak to it, or hear it back,” Michael said. “It responds to telepathic commands, and I couldn’t remember how to talk that way. But when he showed me, it was like...”

“Riding a bike?” Alex suggested.

“Waking up,” Michael said.

Alex decided he didn’t like that word choice.

“I swear, it feels like, like I’ve only ever talked on the phone, and now I can see and hear and feel the person on the other end of the line. Like it’s a… fuller sense of communication. I think, I think it’ll be easier to learn this way. Less room for misunderstanding when you’re not describing; you’re always showing. I think I sound like a toddler, though, from the reactions I’ve been getting.”

“Well, you were seven when you spoke it last,” Alex said.

“Yeah,” Michael said dreamily. “Makes interfacing with the tech slightly harder, though. I mean, it’s amazing, it’s like…”

“The best GUI ever?” Alex asked, offering as much of a smile as he could muster.

“Like it reads your mind. But you can’t send it a mess of commands; you have to send it one at a time. And right now I’m sending everything, and all it’s hearing is a confused mess.”

Alex let him continue for a bit. While he was genuinely interested in the alien technology (who wouldn’t be?), he did have one burning question. _Are you leaving?_ That seemed unsafe, though, so he went with, “What about the planet? Antar?”

“Antar.” Michael’s voice broke on the word. “I’ve tried so hard not to fixate on it, because I’ve never been able to do anything about it, but it’s been _so hard_ , Alex. Not knowing the name of my planet. Of my _species_.”

Alex tried to imagine not having the words ‘human’ or ‘Earth.’ To not know where he was from, only having a vague word full of xenophobic connotations with which to describe himself. He found he couldn’t. As hard as things had been for him, as split as he was between his mother’s people, his father’s people, and the people he’d chosen for himself, he knew the options. He could pick and choose what parts of himself he could take. While he didn’t always pick wisely, what he liked, or even pick at all, he could see where it was from. To not have any of that…

“They called me Rathgar,” Michael said softly. “It… I’m not sure if it’s a name or a title, but it’s mine.”

“How does that work?” Alex asked, pulling himself out of his ruminations. “If the language is all images and feelings, without words, how do you have names?”

“I have no idea,” Michael said, voice honest. “But I can… feel it. You know how when you’re learning a new word, you shape it out with your mouth? And then, when you know it, you don’t have to think about it anymore?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like that. The first time, it was like I was shaping it out with my chest, and then it felt like… something settling into place.”

Alex fell silent for a moment, contemplating. “Is Antar still there?”

Michael’s smile both filled Alex’s heart and froze it. “It is. They showed us memories of it. A red sky. The war’s long over—has been for decades. They’ve rebuilt. I’d say it’s beautiful but their concept of beauty is different from ours.”

Alex heard the change in ‘us’ and drew comfort from it.

Dinner that night was delicious and the company was usually enough to relax Alex, but he stayed tense. He saw the way Michael’s eyes lit up as he talked about what he’d learned, how they fixed like a raptor on Max and Isobel when they shared what they’d learned. He tried to listen, he truly did, but Liz was taking notes he could read later, and his fear was growing into a visceral thing. He really only got his mind to focus when they talked about what the aliens—Antarians, he needed to get that right, now that they knew—had asked their three.

“They wanted to know if anyone else had been in stasis,” Max said.

“They seemed to just assume that’s where we’d been,” Michael said.

“We told them Jones was, for a time, and they started freaking out,” Isobel said.

“Seems they were more afraid of him than we were,” Max said, absently rubbing his chest.

“We told them he was dead, and you could literally feel the relief,” Michael said.

“Didn’t tell them we’d moved Jones’ heart to Max when Max rejected Noah’s,” Isobel said. “Didn’t mention Noah at all.” Gregory put his arm around her, and she relaxed into it.

“They didn’t seem surprised that we were the only ones left,” Michael said, and Alex rubbed the back of his hand to soothe the pain in his voice.

“They seemed really happy that we were still around,” Max said.

“Do you have any family still out there?” Maria asked.

The three shared a look. “We didn’t ask,” Michael said. “Kind of afraid of the answer.”

Alex rubbed Michael’s hand harder.

“I don’t get it,” Rosa said. “They come all the way here just to what, talk? No, ‘take me to your leader,’ no ‘we come in peace,’ just a few conversations with you guys?”

The three shared another look. “We don’t know,” Max said.

“Doesn’t seem likely they don’t have an ulterior motive,” Kyle said. Alex briefly mourned Kyle’s lost optimism, but he agreed.

“What I want to know,” Michael started, voice rough, “is if the war’s been over for decades and they’ve known we were here, why visit now?” He grabbed at Alex’s hand on his. _Why didn’t they help when I needed it_ , Alex heard.

“One way to find out,” Isobel said, rising. “We go back tomorrow and ask. Now if you’ll excuse me, I, for one, need my beauty sleep.” She pulled Gregory up and went to the door. “Good night, all.”

They trickled out then, their friends, their forged family, until finally, Alex and Michael were alone.

Alex pulled Michael up. “Come on,” he said. “Iz is right, we do need sleep.”

“You have work tomorrow,” Michael said.

“I’ll call in sick,” he said, not wanting Michael to be next to a functional spaceship without him.

“You can’t,” Michael said, following Alex into the bedroom. “No one showed up today, but we need to know if anyone noticed the landing.”

Alex hesitated.

Michael pulled him into his arms and leaned their foreheads together. “I’m not just going to up and leave without you,” he promised. He frowned. “Alex, I’m not—” _the one who walks away_ , Alex heard. “I need to learn, I do, but I don’t…” He looked up, brows furrowed as he tried to find the words. “They can show me what it’s like there, in my head. I don’t need to leave to learn.”

Alex let himself relax slightly in Michael’s arms. “We don’t know what they want,” he said.

“And we won’t,” Michael replied easily. “Maybe they just wanted to know if Jones was going to come back and try to kill them all again.”

“Maybe,” Alex said, unconvinced.

Michael’s arms tightened. “We… We’re good, right? You and me?”

The uncertainty in his voice broke Alex’s heart. They’d been doing so much better, and even Michael checking in was progress, but Alex felt like if Michael needed to ask, they were three steps back. “Cosmic,” he said, a small smile in his voice.

Michael relaxed.

They fell asleep wrapped in each other’s arms like a promise. When Alex left for work the next morning, Michael handed him his coffee and kissed him on his way out the door, like a normal workday. The only difference was that Michael hadn’t tried to convince Alex to stay in bed.

Alex tried not to read into that.


	3. Answers

The next day, before heading out, Michael checked in with Sanders. Maria was giving Max all the time off he needed, unpaid, and Isobel was her own boss, but Michael didn’t want to leave Sanders high and dry. The old man, in his gruff way, had wished Michael the best of luck finding answers and told him in no uncertain terms he didn’t want any part of it.

“Only aliens I want any part of are right here or dead. Go do what you need to do,” Sanders said.

“I don’t want to leave you without a mechanic.”

“I ain’t an invalid yet, kid. You’re not leaving for good, are you?”

Michael shook his head.

“Then I’ll be here when you’re done.”

Isobel would’ve hugged him, but Michael wasn’t Iz. “All right,” he said instead. “Try not to mistake a ratchet for a torque wrench.”

“Ain’t blind yet, kid. Go on.”

They spent the day with the other Antarians again, this time with Gregory, Liz, and Kyle watching from afar. They asked why the visitors had come, why now. Their answer was feelings of duty and certainty and fear, with images of a forested moon and two stars, intertwined with each other.

“Well that doesn’t exactly explain things,” Michael joked, his grin strained.

“Maybe we need more context,” Max said.

“Then let’s learn it,” Isobel said.

They split up and went with their less loaded questions. Michael asked about ship propulsion, Max asked about Jones and his history, and Isobel asked about customs. They listened raptly, but their minds kept circling back to the two stars and the moon.

When they got back at the end of the day, Rosa and Alex were waiting for them with takeout, which they ate in Maria’s apartment above the Pony, so she could join them.

“Nothing about it at the base,” Alex said. “I checked every database I could think of, monitored every frequency. No chatter, no scuttlebutt, nothing. For the time being, at least, it looks like no one’s noticed.”

They breathed a collective sigh of relief.

“OK, spill,” Maria said. “Antar.”

From then on, they followed a routine. Days were spent learning about their planet, their people, and their culture. Evenings were reserved for sharing that information as best they could with the rest of Team Alien. At least one human always accompanied Michael and his siblings to the landing site. The Antarians thought it was their retinue, Max thought it was affection, and Isobel thought it was curiosity. Michael, though, understood abandonment. It may be a mix of things, but he was pretty sure they wanted a witness if all the Antarians decided they were going to get in the spaceship and fly off.

They divvied it up. Michael asked about tech, Isobel people, and Max the planet and their powers. Of the three of them, Michael had the far easiest job, in his opinion, though neither of the others offered to trade. Math was math. Once he figured out their notation, he made immense leaps in understanding. On the other hand, trying to learn an entire alien culture and distill it into human terms was an exercise in frustration.

“I’m starting to have a great appreciation for anthropologists,” Isobel said one evening, massaging her temples.

“I thought you were trying for something simple this time,” Maria said. “The white outfits.”

“Yeah, not so simple, as it turns out. Michael seemed to get it, though,” Isobel said, passing the baton to her brother, who’d understood as soon as she mentioned it on the car ride back.

“It’s crazy,” Michael said, energized. “Remember when we did Noah’s autopsy and he had that layer of bioluminescent skin?”

“The P2P lookalike chemical,” Kyle said. He had bags under his eyes and was still in his scrubs, but no one wanted to miss the alien information download if they could help it. Even Jenna had shown up.

“That’s how we figured out your tech is partially organic,” Liz said. “And you’re part tech.”

“Wait, what?” Max asked.

“I believe I said that was an overly human way of understanding it,” Michael said.

“Seriously, why did no one tell me about this?” Max asked.

“You were dead,” Isobel said.

“You hate my research,” Liz said.

“Blew up the lab,” Kyle added.

“People stop telling you stuff after tantrums like that,” Isobel said.

“Anyway,” Michael interrupted. “Turns out, that bioluminescent layer? That’s our normal epidermis. Our bodies naturally grow an insulating layer when surrounded by colder temperatures.”

“You _grew_ human skin? To keep you warmer? Like blubber on a seal?” Liz translated.

“More or less. Keeping a ship warm in space uses a lot of power, so they kept it cooler than Antar and we grew them during the trip. And then Earth is apparently colder than Antar, so we kept them.”

“Wait,” Maria said.

“Are you saying you normally have glowing skin?” Kyle asked.

“Yes,” Isobel said. “That’s not the creepy part, though.”

“There’s a creepy part?” Rosa asked.

“Wait, no, let me guess,” Kyle said. “If the human-like skin is an evolutionary feature for insulation, then if you go somewhere warm enough—”

“Like Antar,” Liz interrupted.

“—You’d shed them.”

“Yeah,” Isobel said.

“Holy fucking shit you guys are wearing skin suits. Like, literally, you are wearing skin suits,” Rosa said.

“Apparently,” Michael said.

Everyone digested that for a while.

“So the normal look is glowing like your tech?” Gregory asked.

“Hence the white outfits,” Isobel said, bringing it back. “Anything else would clash.”

“I can honestly say I was not expecting that,” Jenna said.

“Wait,” Liz said. “How hot are we talking, here? You three have lived in the desert all your lives, and you’ve never… shed… right?”

“No, we have never shed our skin,” Max said, shifting awkwardly. “I think we would’ve noticed that.”

“So your planet would have to be significantly hotter than the hottest temperature it’s gotten here,” Liz continued.

“Yeah,” Michael said. “Remember what I said about the red sky?”

“It means Antar has a much thicker atmosphere than Earth’s,” Alex said.

“Yeah, I wasn’t paying attention to that,” Rosa said.

“Since we can breathe Earth’s atmosphere, the chemical compositions have to be similar, so either the primary wavelength of the sun is closer to red or the other colors of light are scattered too much to see, like during a sunset here,” Michael said.

“Not an invitation to explain it again,” Rosa said.

“Thicker atmosphere, same percentages of gases, means more greenhouse gases total,” Greg said. “Hotter planet. Assuming it’s not just the Antarian sun giving out more red light.”

“Suns,” Max said.

“What?” Alex asked.

“Antar’s got two suns.”

“Just to say this out loud,” Alex said, grinning. “You’re from a hot planet with two suns.”

“Oh yeah,” Michael said, grinning back. “It’s basically Tatooine.”

“Tattooing what?” Kyle asked.

“For the love of all of our sanities, just watch Star Wars,” Isobel implored.

“It has a moon covered with plants and animals, too,” Max said.

“Like Endor’s,” Michael said.

Kyle sighed. “Star Wars again?”

“Mi hermano,” Rosa said. “We need to fix this.”

“No acetone in the atmosphere on Tatooine,” Max said.

“There’s acetone in the atmosphere on Antar?” Greg asked.

“Acetone’s boiling point is over 100°F, isn’t it?” Liz asked.

“122°F,” Michael said. “Pressure would change it, though, and we don’t know the ambient pressure on Antar.”

“Back up. Acetone gas in the air. You’re just low-key inhaling painkillers all day?” Maria asked.

“It would explain why you three drink it all the time,” Liz said.

“Michael’s the one who drinks it all the time,” Max protested.

Michael shifted in his seat.

“Mikey may drink a lot, but I live with you. You’re not great at hiding the bottles,” Liz said. “And Isobel drinks enough that Noah pretended to think she was an alcoholic hiding liquor in them. You all drink a lot of it. Michael just doesn’t hide it.”

“That’s twice we’ve used the N-name and I’d like to not,” Isobel said, leaning against Greg, who put his arm around her waist.

“You might have a biological dependence on it,” Kyle said. “We’ve never checked. Either way, we’ve answered the question.”

“The acetone question?” Michael asked.

“The question of whether or not humans could live on Antar,” Kyle said. “Between the heat stroke and the acetone in the atmosphere, we’re at a solid no.”

Every human/Antarian pair leaned closer together.

The visiting Antarians’ indifference flew right out the spaceship door when they met Maria.

“Whoa, they do not like me,” she said, taking a step back.

“You can feel that?” Michael asked.

“I could feel people before you could, Guerin,” she said, a strained smile on her face as she watched the others.

_[Disgust]_

_[Confusion]_

_[Anger]_

_[Sympathy]_

“Good point,” Michael said, wincing at the cacophony of emotions.

“Can you ask about my mother?” Maria asked.

“I don’t know if I can get a word in edgewise,” Michael said.

“Probably not,” Isobel said, stepping forward. _[Stop, certainty]_ she sent.

The dissonance ended.

“Of course,” Michael said.

_[Maria family]_ Isobel sent. _[Mimi family]_

_[Alarm, confusion]_ one sent back.

_[Mimi unwell]_ Isobel sent. _[You help, certainty]_

Michael and Max brought their hands to their heads in a vain attempt to fend off the returning salvo.

Maria shuddered. “Is that the equivalent of a kid turning their nose up at broccoli?”

There had only been broccoli at one of the foster homes Michael had stayed at, and he’d been too hungry to even question the food in front of him beyond what it would cost him. “I think so,” he said, vaguely remembering Max complaining about it.

“Maybe I should wait by the car,” Maria said.

“I’ll walk you,” Michael said, a little too quickly. The noise quieted as they gained distance.

“I don’t know if they’re going to help,” Maria said.

“If they can, they will,” Michael said. “I don’t care what planet you’re from, no one says no to Isobel Evans.”

“I got the impression that Nora and Louise were way more welcoming than that,” Maria said.

“Me too,” Michael said. “But that was seventy years ago. Maybe things changed.”

“Maybe all the good ones died in the war.”

“That’s a little dark for you.”

“I am dark, when it comes to people learning about my mother’s condition,” Maria said, hands shaking. “Rich-ass doctors say she’s faking it, the nursing home folks lose her to play clairvoyant to Helena Ortheco, and now literal aliens are disturbed by her very existence.” She whirled, freezing Michael in place with a look. “They’re acting like it’s because she’s part Antarian, aren’t they? Not because our family was experimented on without our consent.”

Michael couldn’t suppress the shudder that came with that image.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, you’re right. I think they are.” He glanced back to where at least one of the visitors was cringing before Isobel, two others looking unsure, but the one, the leader, stood straight-backed, looking Isobel in the eye. “I think Isobel’s going to win, though.”

Isobel did win. But the Deluca’s lost.

_[Broken]_

_[Irritation, blame]_

_[No fix]_

_[Sympathy]_

It was Isobel who held Maria as she cried.

They went back and forth as to when to ask again about their visitors’ sudden presence. No one wanted to scare them away before they got enough answers, and they wanted to make sure they had enough context to understand this time. Isobel and Max wanted to ask as soon as possible, and keep asking until they understood, but Michael was afraid to.

“We need to know,” Alex said one night. They were in bed, lights off, rolled on their sides to face each other. It was their default position for things they couldn’t bring themselves to say under the light of day.

“I know,” Michael said, voice small.

“Are you afraid you’re not going to like the answer?”

“We both know I’m not going to like the answer, whatever it is,” Michael said. “They’re not exactly showing much concern over our wellbeing. They’re here for duty, not because they want to be.”

Alex said nothing to this, instead running a hand through Michael’s hair. He’d already put that together.

Michael leaned into the comfort for a moment before finding the words. “I looked for them for so long. I wanted so much from them. I don’t… I don’t think they’re here to give it.”

“You’re not ready for that dream to die,” Alex said, understanding.

Michael burrowed his head into Alex’s shoulder. “I know it doesn’t change their answer.”

“No, but, I get it.”

“That’s not what I want to know most, though,” Michael confessed. “I… There was a war, and my family were already refugees. What if… What if there really is no family out there? What if I was looking up all those years searching for someone who was never there?”

Alex tugged Michael closer.

“I know… I know things are different now. I have a, a family now,” Michael said, voice breaking over the word. “But that was the hope that got me through so much. Every time Max said we weren’t family, every time you left, every time…” Alex’s arms were getting almost painfully tight, now, “Every time my foster parents used a … hands-on approach, every time the noise in my head got _too much_ , or people said I was just… trailer trash… That was the dream that got me through it.” Michael pulled his head out to look at Alex, whose eyes were full of tears. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to—”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Alex said, the conviction in his voice burning through Michael’s pain. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.”

“I do want to know,” Michael said, his own tears forming. “Can you, you’re off tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah. I’ll be right there with you.”

“Thank you,” Michael sobbed, burying his head back in.

It was a long time before either of them fell asleep.

The next day, before they broke out into their groups, Michael asked for a moment. Seven pairs of eyes looked at him expectantly. Seven minds brushed against his, Max’s and Isobel’s encouraging, the rest impassive. Bored, almost, but politely attentive. He could feel it, though; they were as hollow as his customer service smile. He struggled to control his breathing. His mouth felt too dry, his jeans too tight, his lips too cracked, cracked like the desert floor. He needed Alex. Alex, who was in the cab of his truck, cool in the air conditioning, chatting with Gregory, too far away. His mind reached out instinctively, pathways he was just uncovering, and suddenly he could feel Alex. A little nervous, a little amused, and a whole bedrock of calm. His breath came easier, and he asked.

_[Family home Antar?]_

_[Irritation anger]_ he got from one.

_[Family no]_ he got from another.

_[Family no?]_ Isobel sent.

_[Irritation, family no]_

_[Family with you, in crash]_

_[Family gone]_

_[All dead]_

_[You three alone]_

_[You three, anger]_

_[You three, duty]_

Michael felt the emotions they sent wash over him, the angry dismissals lining his legs with lead. Air wasn’t getting to his lungs properly, his knees weren’t supporting him right. Distantly, he recognized Max and Isobel taking a moment, but his legs staggered toward Alex. Alex, who got out of the cab. Alex, who helped him into the tailgate. Alex, who wrapped his arms around him as they sat in the tailgate that was his home for so long. Where he’d spent years looking at the stars, wishing for a family that could never come. A family that was all imprisoned or dead. His hands fell on Alex’s shoulders, where he’d put them in Caulfield, after meeting his mother. His mother, the only family he’d ever meet. His forehead fell against Alex’s collarbone.

The shirt’s fabric was nice. Soft and firm, like the man wearing it. But wet. Why was Alex’s shirt wet? Alex’s hand was soft and tanned in his. His nails were little buds. Michael let his fingers trace the shape of Alex’s knuckles, feeling the bumps and grooves. His pinky was a little dry, the skin cracked.

He felt it again, that bedrock of certainty, with worry and pain and love swirling in it. He let himself drift in it, feeling the warmth under him, the solidness.

It was almost an hour before he realized the moisture was his tears, the lack of air from his silent, wracking sobs. Two hours after that, he pulled himself out of Alex’s arms and went back to the ship. They still didn’t know why the Antarians were here, and they didn’t know when they’d leave. They couldn’t waste the opportunity to learn.

He could feel their irritation at the lost time, their technical expert launching right into the ship’s navigation routines. He tried to listen, he really did, but he kept feeling their empty customer service smiles, their hollow politeness. He felt that hollowness sink into him, felt himself sink into it, until he felt Isobel’s hand on his shoulder, guiding him back.

He and Alex skipped the nightly sharing session, Alex insisting, him following. He missed time, a little, because suddenly he was on their deck, in his love’s arms, looking at the stars.

The stars didn’t look back.

Somewhere around the second week, they started to get a feel for the suns and the moon.

“They’re connected, in some way,” Michael said.

“In what way?” Greg asked.

“We have no idea,” Max said. “They’ve tried explaining it, but our realm of experiences are so different from theirs, there’s some breakdown.”

“What’s connected? The suns and the moon? Or the celestial objects and your powers?” Liz asked.

“Either and/or both,” Michael said.

“What?” Greg asked.

“Even sharing thoughts and memories, we still don’t get it,” Isobel said, one perfectly manicured nail tapping against the table.

“Closest I could get is that they’re sentient celestial bodies and their essences are tied to the planet, or the people,” Michael said. That wasn’t quite it, though. He could _feel_ the answer in his bones, but he couldn’t reach it.

“What?” Liz asked.

“How—” Jenna started.

“I got that it was more like, they had souls,” Isobel said.

“Or that there were people that _were_ the stars?” Max offered.

“I don’t—”

“It is a literal alien culture,” Isobel interrupted, rolling her eyes. “We’re trying to learn it from scratch. It’s going to take a little longer than a couple of weeks to understand it.”

“You said it was linked to why they were here,” Alex argued.

“It is,” Michael said. “We just don’t know how.”

“Yet,” Max said.

“Still,” Liz said. “I’d like to know how a moon’s sentient.”

“You and me both,” Michael said. He looked over to Alex, letting his discomfort bleed into his face. “But right now I’m more concerned about the fact that Sanders was right,” he said with a forced grin, hoping Alex would hear him. “There’s no music on Antar.”

“What?” Alex asked, pretending to be affronted. He understood, bless him. Michael let his relief show in how tightly he held the man’s hand. “Remind me again why we were thinking you guys were an advanced species?”

“Space travel?” Max asked.

“No, that’s insane. Why would you all have fully developed vocal chords if you don’t use them, at all? No communication, no music, nothing,” Liz asked.

“Vestigial?” Maria asked. “Maybe they evolved vocal chords like we did, and when they developed telepathy, they stopped using them.”

“If we’re going to talk about evolutionary traits, I’d like to know about the whole bioluminescence thing,” Kyle said.

The conversation continued, moon and stars forgotten.

\-----

Not forever, though. Alex waited until they were home, prepped for bed, then, “Why didn’t you want to keep talking about the moon and the suns?”

Michael, already under the covers, didn’t respond.

Alex arranged himself under the sheets and turned to look at him, watching him stare at the ceiling. “Michael?”

“I don’t know,” Michael said, voice small. Alex instinctively snuggled closer, placing a hand on Michael’s chest, slowly soothing. “It feels… important. Like… something I learned so long ago it’s a fact of the universe. Water, wet. Fire, hot. That sort of thing.” He sighed. “It’s important, whatever it is. The others, they have crazy emotional control, but when they talk about it, you can feel the urgency.”

Alex bit the inside of his lip. “Shouldn’t we talk about it, then? Share—” _intel_ “—information?”

Michael rolled to his side, facing Alex and brought his hand up to frame the other man’s face. “Probably. It feels like something we shouldn’t _have_ to figure out, though.” Michael’s thumb drifted over Alex’s cheekbone and Alex closed his eyes. “The symbols aren’t really words, you know?”

He opened them again. “You’ve said.”

“This one, though,” Michael said, nodding at the three-pointed symbol on his arm. “It’s not on any of the tech I’ve seen, and it’s specifically used for the stars and the moon. One celestial body for each of the points.”

“So it really is a symbol for Antar, then. The planet with two suns and a moon,” Alex guessed.

“Maybe, but… they use the same symbols when referring to the three of us. When they address me, they use the same symbol they use for the moon, and Max and Iz get the same as the suns.” He huffed a laugh. “Maybe that’s why they’re so connected. Binary star systems usually have a donor star and a white dwarf, and the white dwarf literally pulls material from the donor star.”

“Maybe the symbols are a contextual thing. Like ‘wind a clock’ vs ‘wind in your hair.’ Or ‘wield a bat’ vs ‘ears like a bat.’”

“Homographs,” Michael murmured.

Alex smiled. Of course he knew the word for it.

“Maybe. We thought the symbol for Max was that ‘savior’ one. Maybe it also means ‘tall and stubborn,’” Michael said. He smiled fondly.

Alex felt his smile grow. He’d never seen the Pod Squad cooperate so well before. It was nice to see them all acting like a family. They’d been moving toward it, he knew, with regular dinners, less arresting or pointing guns at one another, but this was the first evidence that Michael _felt_ it. Given how cruelly cavalier the visitors had been about his lack of family on Antar, Alex felt grateful. Michael really was starting to be more comfortable in his life here. It showed in every smile, every softer edge he presented. Alex let his hand slide over to the crook of Michael’s side, thumb over his hipbone.

“I feel like we’re missing something important,” Michael confessed.

“We’ll figure it out,” Alex promised.

Michael smiled again. He let his own hand drift to Alex’s hip, then lower.

Alex tightened his hold and leaned forward into the kiss. In the time that followed, he let his certainty grow. Michael really wasn’t leaving. The unhurried, centered way he kissed proved that. They’d had goodbye sex so many times; this wasn’t it.


	4. The Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Antarians reveal why they came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning: there is another part to this. I wanted to make sure I had at least a decent draft of the next part before posting the end to this one. Know that I believe in happy endings.

It was almost a month in before the visitors showed any signs of leaving. One day they were explaining Antarian concepts like all the rest, the next they informed them that they were all to depart tomorrow.

_[You three, in the ship, fly to Antar]_ , one sent.

Michael froze.

_[Confusion?]_ Isobel sent back.

_[Duty],_ they sent.

_[House family Liz home]_ Max sent.

_[Need, worry]_ , they sent.

_[Anger, denial]_ Isobel sent.

_[Anger, affirmation]_ they sent.

Michael felt the warring emotions flit by, letting himself fall inward. Go back to Antar, he thought. A world with a red sky, with people like him. Where his powers weren’t something to be hidden, where _he_ wasn’t something to be hidden. Where there was no fear of discovery, no fear of cages, or needles, or scalpels, or antiseptic. He could learn, he could _be_ , whatever he wanted.

He looked at the Antarians, felt their apathy towards them, their urgency that they return. They didn’t want Michael and his family; they needed them. He looked back at Alex, alone today in the cab of his truck, at home where he’d found his home for so long. His head bowed as he read the book Michael had given him, hair slightly mussed, a little longer than regulation. He closed his eyes. What did he want?

It bubbled out of him, then, not directed, just a fact of his existence. _[Alex, stay, certainty]_ , Michael sent, feeling the old dream fly away, choosing the new dream. The real dream. He had no family in the stars. His family was here.

_[Frustration, anger]_ , they sent.

_[No]_ , the three sent.

\-----

Alex was out of the truck and running before he even registered the screams. He saw Michael on his knees, Isobel bent over, and Max fallen backwards, arms around their middles, all screaming as though their throats were being ripped out. Alex had seen that, once, and the memory threatened to bowl him over, but instead he got between the groups of Antarians. He put on his Captain face and Captain voice, the ones that hid his fear behind surety of purpose.

“Stop. Now,” he ordered. He knew they couldn’t understand his words. He also knew they could understand intent. He brought up every memory of defending his team, every memory of pulling the trigger, the iron certainty that he would defend Michael with every breath in his body.

The screaming stopped, replaced by hard breathing.

The visitors strode to their ship and shut the door. Alex watched them for a full minute before he turned his back to them. Michael was trying to sit up. Alex got an arm under his and helped him up.

“Let’s get to the truck,” he said, voice firm.

Isobel and Max looked up at him with stunned expressions. Michael leaned heavily against him.

“Let’s get up, get to the truck,” he said again, voice softer, but no less firm. He cajoled the three, herding them back to the vehicle and some illusion of safety. He went to start the truck—it was painful, driving an unmodified vehicle with a prosthetic, but he could do it, if it meant getting them out of there—but Michael stopped him with a touch.

Alex looked around. Michael’s truck was the best for off-roading, but not for passengers, and two people had to sit in the bed until they got back to the road and the car they’d left there. Alex had placed Michael next to him, leaving Max and Isobel in the bed. It was a testament to how messed up they all were that Isobel hadn’t protested placement in the ‘paint mixer’, as she called it. All three of them were holding their heads, rocking as best they could.

“Michael,” he said.

Michael kept rocking, tears streaming down his face.

“Michael,” he said, gently, louder.

The mechanic showed no signs of hearing him.

Michael had a complicated relationship with touch on most days. The only ones he ever seemed to welcome were Alex’s and Isobel’s, but even then, when taken by surprise, Michael always responded first with fear. So instead Alex sang quietly, leaning his head toward Michael, not touching. He sang until the rocking subsided a little, until Michael leaned the rest of the way into him. Given the opening, he wrapped Michael into his arms, ignoring the awkward angle and the stress it put on his prosthetic.

“We have to go back,” Michael said, voice hoarse. He looked through the window at Max and Isobel, who nodded, even though they couldn’t possibly hear him. That’d been happening more often, lately, Alex had noticed. The three would communicate without words.

“You’re not going back to talk to them right now,” Alex said, fighting to keep his voice even.

“We have to,” Michael insisted. “They need to explain. We need… we need to know.”

“Know what?”

“How staying will kill them all,” Michael whispered.

Cold washed over Alex as his heart stopped beating. “What?”

“They made us feel it,” Michael continued, unhearing. “The planet, millions of people, _children_ , screaming, crying, in so much _pain_. They made us feel it all.”

“No,” Alex tried.

Michael’s entire body was tense, rigid lines. He blinked slowly, eyes filled with tears. “They’ll all die if we don’t go back,” he said, his voice overflowing with certainty. “We felt it all.”

“No,” Alex whispered, voice breaking. He felt his breath catch high in his throat, a clog, forcing his lungs to stop, his chest to grow cold. He felt his hands start to shake, his chin quiver, but all he cared about was the man before him. The man scrunched up against an unseen foe, making himself small and unobtrusive, like he could stop the pain by appearing unthreatening. He looked—Alex’s breath caught. He looked like he had after Caulfield. Broken. Alex recognized the body language, felt it to his very core, where he’d done so much repair work after his father had died. Michael wasn’t scared. Fear came from the unknown. Whatever this was, it was a pain he knew.

Of course he knew it, Alex realized. He’d just had it downloaded into his head.

They did go back to the ship eventually, though this time Alex went with them. He radiated a cold certainty, a warning against any further harm to his people. None came, though, and they left as soon as the explanations had finished, calling everyone.

\------

“Why would they spend so long here, teaching you, if they were just going to make you go back with them?” Rosa asked.

“They didn’t think we’d care, if we didn’t know anything about the planet. About the people,” Max said bitterly. “They didn’t think we’d _care_ if millions of people died. What does that say about us?”

“What does it say about _them_ ,” Kyle corrected.

“Back up, why do you have to leave?” Maria asked.

“The Alighting,” Michael heard himself say. He wanted to focus, to burn this into his mind. The memory of his friends, his family. He couldn’t. “It’s a genetic thing.”

“What?” Liz asked.

“It has to be done every so often or everyone dies,” Isobel explained, voice hard. Her eyes flashed, trying to find an outlet for her rage. “Everyone still alive who could do it was on our ship.”

“How often?” Greg asked.

“Hard to compare orbital periods,” Michael said. His voice sounded blank. There should be more to it, he thought.

“What?” Rosa asked.

“Can’t compare an Earth year to an Antarian year when you don’t know how long an Antarian year is,” Alex translated. He held Michael’s hand. It felt nice, Michael noted absently.

“OK, so you go, you do the Alighting, you come home,” Liz said, problem-solver hat on. “It’ll be fine.”

“It’s _genetic_ ,” Michael said, voice finally breaking.

“You need to have kids,” Rosa said, understanding.

Alex’s fingers turned white around Michael’s hand. _He knows what’s coming_ , Michael thought. Of course he did. Alex always saw what was coming.

“OK, not super excited to be used as a baby factory, but kids were kind of the plan anyway,” Liz said.

“Will they need to be fully Antarian to do the Alighting?” Kyle asked.

“What _is_ the Alighting?” Gregory asked.

“Whatever it is that we don’t understand with the suns and the moon, that’s the Alighting,” Max said, holding Liz to him like she’d disappear. “Whatever it is, it takes three. Michael has to do something with the moon, Iz and I get the suns.”

“Do what with the moon?” Alex asked.

“Be the moon?” Michael guessed. It felt close, but not quite.

“And yes,” Max continued. “Whatever it is, it’s tied to our powers. The stronger our powers, the more likely it is we’ll…”

“You’ll what?” Liz asked.

“Survive,” Michael rasped.

Alex’s nails were starting to dig in.

“So you… you go, you have kids, and you come back. Bring them with you,” Liz said.

Isobel swished her ponytail out of the way. She was gripping Greg’s arm so tightly his skin was going white. “The best chance they’ll have is if they’re raised with full use of their powers. Powers we’ve never been able to use freely here.”

“So you… you—”

“What?” Michael asked. “ _Leave_ them there? _Alone?_ ”

Alex pulled on his hand and, oh, when did he start standing? He collapsed back into his chair, shoulders slumped.

“Are you sure they’re telling the truth?” Rosa asked.

“Yes,” the three answered in unison.

“They could be lying, manipulating you—”

“We’re sure,” Isobel said. “I checked. I didn’t… understand the answer, not fully, but they have absolute certainty: we don’t do the Alighting, everybody dies.”

They didn’t talk much after that, unless you counted the desperate attempts at problem-solving. Michael didn’t. He should’ve known. It’d been too good to be true. A place here on Earth _and_ answers? He was the one who took the hits, who moved the bodies. He was the one on the outside, held apart. He was the criminal, the trailer trash, the junkyard dog. The one with the wasted life. The one who could have been great, if only. If only.

Michael knew what to do when his dreams collapsed.

He supposed he should be grateful he’d been allowed this one for as long he had.

Alone in their home, he looked at Alex. Alex, with his soulful brown eyes and golden skin. With his kindness where there should be resentment, his strength and compassion, and his razor intellect, calculating. Alex, who saw that which others overlooked, and did something about it.

“Play me the song,” he asked in a low voice.

Alex stood for a long moment, looking at him, like he was trying to memorize his face. Then he nodded. He got out his keyboard and set it up facing Michael. Eyes wet, he played. “ _My father taught me home is where the hurt is…_ ”

Michael let the music wash over him, felt it seep into his bones, filling the cracks. Alex played it again and again, until tears fell freely from both of their eyes. There was no sound but for the beauty of the melody, as if it were a spell that could keep them in this moment forever. But all moments end. “ _You are the best of me,_ ” this one ended.

They crashed together then, clinging and cradling each other, desperation and tenderness intertwined. Their bodies remembered this, this goodbye. It healed and broke them both, a declaration and a devastation.

In the early hours of the morning, they held each other.

“How did you do this?” Michael asked. “Leave?”

“It killed me. Every time,” Alex confessed. “How did you do this? Be the one left behind?”

“It killed me. Every time,” Michael said. He burrowed his head into Alex’s shoulder. “I would move the whole damn planet to stay with you, Alex.”

“I know. I would, too.”

“I can’t just let them all die.”

“I know.”

“I… I _can’t_ leave a kid behind. I _can’t_. I can’t—I can’t abandon a kid. My kid.”

“I know.”

“Won’t matter if I don’t survive. They’ll just take my genes and make a kid without me and it’ll be alone anyway.”

Alex was quiet a long moment, hands threading through Michael’s hair. “Survive, then.” He pulled Michael up to look at him. “Please. I need you to survive.”

Michael looked at him, his love, his heart, his home. He’d always thought he’d never be able to deny Alex anything. “I’ll try.” He snuggled back in, Alex’s arms tight around him. “I don’t want to go.”

He had no family in the stars.

The stars didn’t care.

\-----

Alex woke warm and broken under his alien blanket. He let his hands drift lightly over Michael’s curls, backlit like a halo by the sunrise, down his chest. He felt his strong heartbeat and steady breaths and suppressed the urge to squeeze Michael until he knew in his heart that he was all right, that he was _safe_. He let his fingers trickle over Michael’s arms, holding him tight even in sleep, and let himself feel safe. One last time.

He could do this. He could be strong. For Michael. Michael, who had held him, broken and weeping, til the early hours. Michael, who he knew in his heart, in his soul, didn’t want to leave. Who loved him with every fiber of his being, just as Alex did him. What a time to finally be sure of it. He choked back his sobs, his begging. He couldn’t ask him to stay. He couldn’t do that to him.

Michael couldn’t stay. Alex understood that. He had to go, save a planet. How was he supposed to say no to that? The only way to ensure the planet didn’t die later was to have a kid. Michael would be an amazing father, he knew. He’d pictured it: a hazy daydream while overseas, slowly growing more solid as their relationship bloomed. A child with Michael’s hazel eyes and curly hair. Michael, catching them as they fell trying to walk. Michael, laying out a fresh-cooked meal for them, warm and safe in their home. Michael, showing them how to fix a car, how to pick out constellations, how to do their homework, eyes alight as he explained. Michael, tears in his eyes, watching their first dance at their wedding. Michael, in a worn rocking chair on a porch, watching the grandchildren play in the yard. He’d pictured it all.

He’d almost believed he could have it.

Michael could never abandon his child. He would do whatever he needed to— _anything_ —to give that kid their best chance. It was who he was, at his core: someone who protected those he loved, even to his own detriment. It was one of the things Alex loved most about him. It was one of the things that worried Alex most about him. He couldn’t ask Michael to stay. He couldn’t force Michael to say no, to feel like he was abandoning him, too. It would break him.

He could do this. He could stay strong. For Michael.

Breakfast was coffee and toast. Michael left his wallet and the recipe for his omelets on the counter. Alex drove him to the junkyard, staying a respectful distance away while Michael hugged Sanders goodbye. For both their sakes, he pretended not to notice the tears on their cheeks.

He could do this.

At the landing site, they made their rounds. He handed Michael his guitar, and they both nearly buckled under the memories. Michael handed him his cowboy hat. They whispered “I love you”s and didn’t even try to hold back tears.

He could be strong. For Michael.

Alex stood with Liz, Gregory, Kyle, Maria, Rosa, and Jenna, clutching the hat as he watched his home fly away.

“Please stay,” he whispered, when the ship was out of sight.


End file.
